Prince of Cooking
by Skyla Ladona
Summary: COMPLETE: The Seigaku regulars accidentally walk onto the Japanese TV show Iron Chef on their way to a tennis tournament. In teams of four they will battle to win the title Iron Chef. please review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis . . . But I would like to.

_Nor_ do I own Iron Chef, but I think it's hilarious. (Some of following quotes are from the TV show.)

Hope you enjoy!

-Skyla Ladona

_Short prelude . . . _

Quote: "Tell me what you eat, and I'll tell you what you are." Brillat-Savarin

Echizen Ryoma: ". . . Eeh?"

Narrator: "Nearly a decade ago a man's fantasy became reality in a form never seen before; Kitchen Stadium, a giant cooking arena. The motivation for spending his fortune to create kitchen stadium was to encounter new original cuisines which could be called true artistic creations. To realize his dream he secretly started choosing the top chefs of various styles of cooking and he named these men the Iron Chefs, the invincible men of culinary skills."

In front of Kitchen Stadium eight figures rose up on the platform while the epic Iron Chef theme music played. Dressed in white and blue tennis jackets the junior high students shouldered blue tennis bags. The youngest of them, wearing a cap, bounced a tennis ball on his racket effortlessly, his eyes closed as he drank a can of Ponta. Needless to say, he was the only one who did not jump in surprise when the glaring rays of multiple spotlights fell down upon them all.

Oishi Syuichirou blinked and held up the road map to his face. "Minna . . . did we take a wrong turn."

Fuji Syusuke smiled, calm and serene as usual. "Saa, this is definitely not Yamaru Gakuen's tennis courts."

Kaidoh Karu hissed. "It's all your fault, Momoshiro-baka. You told us to take that turn by the mall!"

Momoshiro Takeshi glared challengingly at Seigaku's snake player. "What was that, Mamushi?!"

Kawamura Takashi tried to break the two apart but only succeeded in getting the full brunt of Momoshiro's fist-in-the-face dunk smash. To stop the heated battle Inui Sadaharu threatened to treat both sophomores to one of his new concoctions.

Echizen Ryoma, still bouncing the tennis ball on his racket, finally opened his eyes and blinked around him. "This looks familiar," he murmered. For a moment he pondered, while beside him Momo used Kaidoh as a human shield against Inui's Akazu attack and Kikumaru bounced up and down waving erratically at all the cameras he could spot with his overactive eyesight. Finally Ryoma's eyes widened in realization. "Ah! Oyaji watches this show." A chill ran though him. "_Oyaji_watches this show? I'm on his favorite TV show?" Ryoma choked, reaching up for his throat in horror. It was his worst nightmare . . . and his father was probably recording the whole thing.

At home Echizen Nanjiro sneezed explosively into his bowl of rice, the remote falling out of his hand before he could turn on the TV to watch his favorite show.

Kawamura, once he regained consciousness from Momo's misdirected attack, sprang to his feet in awe. _"GREATO!"_ he yelled, suddenly in "Burning Mode". Surprisingly enough, he was not even holding his racket. "Iron Chef! _WE'RE ON IRON CHEF!" _

"We have to get to the tournament!" Oishi said.

"But this is a once in a life time chance!" Kawamura roared. "_I might never get this chance again!_ _THIS IS MY DREAM!_"

"And so is nationals!" Oishi argued. "What would Tezuka say if he were in this situation?"

Oishi's cell phone rang. He fumbled and jammed it against his ear. "What?!" he yelled distractedly. The normally calm Oishi was flustered and angry. His anger fled abruptly as his eyes widened. "Tezuka!"

"Buchou!" the other's exclaimed. Their captain, who was still recovering in Kyuushu, must have seen them on TV. All of them grew tense, waiting for the scolding to start.

"Oishi . . . I expected more from you." Tezuka Kunimitsu sounded very disappointed for someone so emotionless. They could hear his voice very clearly, for all of them were gathered close to listen.

Oishi lowered his head, his eyes solemn. "Gomen, Tezuka, I—"

"Give up this opportunity and you'll run a thousand laps!"

Fuji's blue eyes opened. Inui's glasses cracked and his notebook fell out of his hand. It was useless now. Kaidoh squeaked. Kikumaru fell over. Sweat broke out on Oishi's forehead and he took a risk to ask a very ludicrous question, his hand shaking violently. "Tezuka . . . you don't mean . . . Is Iron Chef your favorite show?"

"Aa. It is."

Ryoma's pale skin went white, the visor of his hat hiding haunted, listless eyes. "Oyaji . . . and _Buchou_ . . . love _Iron Chef_ . . . Something is _very_ wrong."

Echizen Nanjiro sneezed again, tripped over a screeching Karupin, and hurtled down the stairs, yelping as he hit each one with a resounding _smack_! He still had not gotten a chance to turn on the TV.

Kawamura tore off his tennis jacket with a roar. Somehow, in an instant, he was already wearing the whole chef outfit, the white hat included. The rest of the Seigaku regulars reasoned bemusedly that Kawamura was probably born wearing a chef uniform. "BURNING!" he bellowed, a deadly sushi knife brandished in one large hand. In English he chanted, "I'M THE _GREATO_ IRON CHEF _JAPAN_! I WILL WIN, _BABY!" _

Narrator: "Ah, did you just call me 'Baby?'"

To be continued . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis . . . But I would like to.

_Nor_ do I own Iron Chef, but I think it's hilarious.

Thank you so much for those who have reviewed. You made my day! (My reaction: Reviews . . . I got reviews already? I just posted this! Woop woop!)

In any event, thanks again and enjoy.

-Skyla Ladona

ooo

" . . . Neh . . . Momo-senpai . . . Do you know how to cook?"

Momoshiro nodded proudly at Ryoma's question. "Yes . . . Do you?"

Ryoma was very, _very_ quiet. Softly he answered.

Momo held a hand to his ear. "What was that, I couldn't hear you? It almost sounded like you said 'no."

" . . . I did."

Momoshiro froze, still smiling . . . His smile snapped apart as his brows shot up into his dark, spiky hair. "_NANI!_" he yelled into Ryoma's face. The force of his shout blew Ryoma's hat right off. The first year managed to grab it before it fell onto a nearby plate of sushi and . . . were those chicken feet? "_You can't cook_?! "What _can_ you cook?"

" . . . Ramen . . ."

"You mean the kind in the cup? _All you have to do is add hot water! _Damn, Echizen, is tennis the only thing you _can_ do?"

"I can play volley ball, speak fluent English, play billiards . . . and I can bowl."

Fuji appeared out of nowhere, dressed as Ryoma was in a white chef's outfit, and whispered so only the first year could hear him. "_Now_ you can bowl, after you got that how-to-book." Fuji waved his camera at him happily, grinning.

Echizen turned red. He thought no one had known about his purchase at the book store. He would get back at Fuji for this blackmail. He'd crack that cursed camera in half.

The flamboyant Chairman Kaga was standing before a counter at the top of a flight of menacing looking stairs. "The secret ingredient is—" With an extravagant motion he pulled the red curtain off. Steam wafted upwards from the counter. "Wasabi!"

The Seigaku team groaned as one, all accept for Inui, whose glasses shimmered, and Fuji, who sighed happily. "Sushi, cake, ice cream, custard. So many things you can make with wasabi. What should we make, Taka-san?"

Kawamura, still in burning mode, shouted, _"WE WILL MAKE NO WASABI ICE CREAM, PRETTY BABY!" _His hat fell off. He blinked and scratched the back of his head humbly. "Gomen, Fuji. We can make whatever you want."

The teams were ready. Inui was with Kaidoh. The Golden Pair, of course stood together. You'd need a chainsaw to break those two apart. Kawamura and Fuji stood near their stove. Ryoma and Momoshiro stood ready . . . Well, at least Momoshiro was ready. Ryoma was looking at all the pots and pans, wondering what the hell to do with them.

When the call was made to begin there was a furry of motion. The three judges' jaws dropped. If you ever wondered what would happen if you got a junior high tennis team in a competitive cooking show together, this was it. Kikumaru sprinted to gather the wasabi. Momoshiro brandished a cutting board, using it to dunk smash apples at the opposing teams while Ryoma ran up the stairs to gather wasabi on his plate first. Fuji whistled happily as Ryoma ran his way back to his counter and casually tripped the first year. Ryoma fell down with a thud and Fuji mugged him of his wasabi. Ryoma cursed and grabbed the older boy's leg, and the latter of which went sprawling to the floor. The rest of the Seigaku members were pitted against each other, oranges, apples, fish, and onions flying everywhere. Of course, Inui was not participating in the fiasco.

"I predicted a 100 percent chance that this would happen," Inui murmered, and he stepped with one long legged stride over Fuji and Ryoma. The two tennis geniuses were having a heated cat fight. Momoshiro was concentrating all his efforts on Kikumaru, who was jumping and somersaulting everywhere to avoid the flying projectiles. None had seen Inui walk up the stairs to gather his share before the others.

"Minna!" Oishi yelled. "Watch Inui! He's got the wasabi!"

Kawamura roared, throwing up an orange to serve it directly at Inui's head. Inui ducked. "There was a 100 percent chance that _that_ would happen as well." Fuji and Ryoma, reaching up from the floor like angry demons from an underworld of rage, grabbed Inui's ankles in a monster hold and the data player fell. "I didn't predict that," Inui admitted with a grunt.

"Iron Chefs! _Iron Chefs!_ It doesn't matter who collects the wasabi first!" Chairman Kaga cried, pulling at his glossy black locks till he went bald in a few places. Kitchen Stadium had become a battle ground, an epic food fight of fury. "Please! Didn't you hear the beautiful introduction? I spent my _fortune_ to build Kitchen Stadium, and you're ruining it!"

The Seigaku team only grew more boisterous.

Speaker 1 was frantic. "I have _never_ seen anything like this! It is as though a tennis match has exploded onto Kitchen Stadium! Kawamura, Oishi, and Momoshiro are pitted against each other with their cutting boards, smashing fish heads back and forth. Still, no one but Inui and Echizen have managed to walk up the stairs to gather wasabi, but they can't make it back to their counters! It appears as though Echizen-san is performing a Twist Serve on Inui-san's head with a kiwi. It bounces up, heads for Fuji-san . . . but Fuji ducks! And it hits Echizen's partner, Momoshiro, right in the jaw! And oh! His partner is _very_ angry! Momoshiro has grabbed Echizen in a stranglehold and is calling him a 'baka' in every language he can! Echizen is turning blue! Inui is grabbing out what appears to be a notebook from his pocket and seems to be writing something! This must be a battle tactic! The pen, of course, _is_ mightier than the sword!"

Speaker 2: "That was really corny!"

Finally Kikumaru, buried under a pile of Momoshiro's onions, peppers, and apples, made the brilliant observation. He cried out, "Hoi! Where's Kaidoh?!"

They all looked up.

Kaidoh stood quietly cutting up wasabi and onions, hissing a tune to himself as he worked. The polite son of the Kaidoh clan (at least, he was polite with his family) was right at home in the kitchen. He shuddered, feeling seven pairs of eyes on him, and looked up. The snake player upended his cutting board of onions and wasabi to block the onslaught of pickled plums, melons, and cabbage that were aimed at his face.

To be continued . . . I'm hungry . . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis . . . But I would like to.

_Nor_ do I own Iron Chef, but I think it's hilarious.

Thank you again for all the reviews. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Happy Easter!

-Skyla Ladona

p.s It's my birthday on Saturday! I'll be 21 and happily ordering drinks:D

Minors: _Don't listen to a word I say._ _Ordering drinks isn't that much fun_. --

Others: _Don't contradict me!_

ooo

Narrator: "Fifteen minutes have passed and all the Iron Chefs of Seigaku have managed to accomplish was a spectacular food fight. However, they all seemed to have recovered from their craze and are now working as fast as possible to come up with their creative concoctions."

"Hoi, Oishi! We need more eggs! And more cheese!"

"Why cheese?"

"We need to cut back on the spice of the wasabi! Dairy products can do that! Listen to the cook!"

"But you're a baker!"

"Nya, stop questioning me!"

Inui and Kaidoh, contrary to the Golden Pair, were calm and collected . . . Well, at least Inui was. "Five tea spoons of vinegar, three of salt, a cup of ground sardines, three of pig intestine, one of ground cockroach." (Note: Inui found _those_ back stage, not on the counter.)

Kaidoh, while he added the ingredients, held a hand over his mouth. His face was turning green. "Senpai," he said gruffly, "The judges are going to eat this. If you make your juice the way you do for us then—"

Inui's glasses flashed. "Then what, Kaidoh?"

Kaidoh shuddered and hissed. "Never mind."

Kawamura and Fuji were doing much better than the rest. Fuji was humming as he made wasabi custard for the desert dish, which actually looked surprisingly good and smelled great, and looked over at Kawamura. "Neh, Taka-san, How is the fish coming?"

Kawamura gave a thumbs up. "Magnifico, Fuji-san!"

"When did you learn Italian, Taka-san?"

"Just now!"

Momoshiro and Ryoma stared at the others. "Everyone is doing so much," Momo murmered. "And look at all we managed to make!" He waved a hand frustratingly towards the celery and cream cheese with wasabi sprinkling.

Ryoma smiled smugly. "Mada mada dane."

Momo smacked him on the head. "Don't you _dare_ say that! And don't be so proud of yourself! Spreading cream cheese on a celery stick is so easy toddlers can do it!"

Ryoma rubbed his head. "Then what should we make?"

The two of them pondered, frowning furiously down at the counter top. Three camera men hovered around them, trying to capture their expressions of anger, desperation, and fear. In a rare burst of rage, Ryoma grabbed a potato from the counter and held it up to chuck at the cameras. Suddenly he froze and stared at it as if he had never seen it before. "Momo-senpai," he said.

"Not now, Echizen, I'm trying to think.

"Momo-senpai, I've got it."

"Not now Echizen, I'm—" He was interrupted when Ryoma shoved the potato into his face. "What are you doing!" he yelled.

"Momo-senpai. I know what we can make."

"What?"

"Do we have any meat?"

"What are you trying to sa—" His eyes widened in shock. "But it needs to be original! We can't make _that_!"

"It _will_ be original," Ryoma said. "Look at all the stuff we got here. You know how to grill, right?"

Momo crossed his arms over his chest with a smug grin. "Yes. Who doesn't?"

Dark rain clouds gathered over Ryoma's head. He drooped with shame. "Could you stop the insults?" He looked up again. "I'll gather the stuff we need and you can cut."

Momo nodded, smiling, and looked at the others. "We can't let the others get ahead of us anymore. No we can't. We will make what we know."

Speaker 1 perked to attention. "What's this? It seems like the Momoshiro-Echizen pair have started to work. They are grabbing as many potatoes and as much beef as they can find . . . But, I _really_ don't know what they are thinking. They don't need _that_ much food, do they? They already have enough on their counter."

Speaker 2: "Junior high school boys. Their stomachs are black holes. They are going to cook as though they are cooking for themselves."

While Momo began to cut and dump the sliced potatoes onto a pan of olive oil and sprinkled wasabi Ryoma snuck over towards Fuji's table. He reached out to take a potato. The sadistic tensai twisted his head slowly around without so much as turning the rest of his body, and smiled, his blue eyes open and staring through Ryoma's. The first year clutched his heart when it lurched and he could almost hear the power of the third year's thoughts. _Do not touch my spuds, **Echizen Ryoma**, or you will face my eternal wrath._

Ryoma limped away, the right side of his body numb. For maybe the one hundredth time that year he wondered if Fuji was really human.

Ryoma snuck towards Oishi and Kikumaru instead. They were the least likely pair to kill him off if he stole a few potatoes and other things from them.

He reached out and touched a pepper.

The normally friendly Kikumaru started, ears perking up, his eyes narrowing predatorily as he sprang panther like over the counter, roaring, "HOI! DON'T TOUCH MY PEPPERS!" He tackled the first year and Ryoma crashed to the floor, protecting his face with a metal plate as the acrobatics player attacked it with his claws . . . _claws?!_

Oishi tried to drag Kikumaru off. "Eiji! Stop it or someone will get hurt! Gomen, Echizen. Kikumaru isn't usually like this. He gets this way while he is baking."

Ryoma's eyes went large. "Baking?"

"He nearly ripped my arms off when I dropped a cup cake once. Oi, Eiji! Get a hold of yourself! Echizen didn't mean any harm!"

Kikumaru calmed down and lowered his head, back away from the first year. "Gomen, Ochibi," he sighed. "It's just that when you touched the peppers, I thought you were going to steal—" He looked up and found that Ryoma was gone. "Hoi! Where did he go?"

Sprinting gingerly back to his counter, Ryoma was laden with peppers, potatoes, onions, and other assorted foods, using his apron to lug them all. Luckily only Oishi saw him. "So where did Ochibi go?" Kikumaru asked.

Oishi turned Kikumaru back to their work. "Don't worry, Eiji." When the acrobatics player returned to baking their wasabi bread Oishi turned around to look menacing at Ryoma's back. He was normally a calm person. But, when someone stole his precious tomatoes, he could get very, _very_ angry.

To be continued . . . .

Food fact. Dairy products really do help when you eat spicy food. When you eat spicy salsa and you drink water to cool your mouth down you are actually making the burning worse. Instead, have a glass of milk and it will help get rid of the burning. Or add some cream cheese to your salsa (partly because it works just as well as milk, mostly because it just tastes good.)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef. Someone else does . . .

Nor do I have my own car, but I would like to. (College without a car is depressing)

Thanks again for the birthday wishes. This will be the last update for a while now. I need to really concentrate on my school work. English major with five papers, each about twelve pages long.

ooo

Echizen Nanjiro sighed as he sat down on the couch, picking up the remote. Finally, at long last, he was able to watch his favorite show. He turned on the TV and saw, with anguish, that there was a commercial on.

He groaned in anger.

Karupin meowed up at him, tail swishing back and forth over the floor.

"Don't talk to me," he moaned. "It's all your fault I fell down the stairs." He flipped open a porn magazine to pass the time.

The Himalayan meowed again, tilting her head to the side, and watched him tap his toes on the floor.

Finally, after a minute, the show was back on. He blinked as he looked at the chefs, muttering to himself tiredly. "They get shorter and younger every year . . . especially the little one. . . He looks like Ryoma . . . He is Ryoma. Wow, Ryoma's on the television . . . _NANI? NANAKO! YOUR COUSIN'S ON TV!"_

Nanako, rolling rice balls in the kitchen with her slender hands , shook her head in exasperation. "Uncle, I told you that it is wrong to lie."

"_BUT I'M NOT LYING!"_

"It is also impolite to shout as well."

"BUT HE REALLY IS ON TV! HE'S ON _IRON CHEF!" _

"I _told you_ that it is impolite to yell."

"I CAN'T HELP IT! MY CAPS LOCK BUTTON IS STUCK!"

Karupin chose that moment to attack Nanjiro's feet and the sound of crashing furniture and Samurai Nanjiro's screams could be heard throughout the city. He was so loud he really didn't have to strike the bell any more.

Back at Kitchen Stadium, Ryoma had just been cutting up tomatoes when he was grabbed roughly from behind. He couldn't see who it was. All he knew was that the man was dressed in black. His heart thundered in his chest. He hadn't even heard the approach of the man . . .

Ryoma frowned in exasperation as the camera men moved closer, only a few inches away from his face, to capture his emotion. He could see his face reflected in all three camera lenses. "You _could_ help me a little."

"Sorry," a camera man apologized, but he really didn't mean it. "We catch the drama, not the villains clad in black. Keep looking scared. The camera loves it."

Ryoma sighed and returned back to his panicked state, trying to wriggle free of those arms. His captor laughed sadistically. "I've got you now, _Echizen Ryoma."_

Ryoma clenched his teeth, glaring furiously at the floor. "Is that you, Fuji-senpai?"

A few counters away Fuji waved at Ryoma happily, his hands delicately powdered with flower. "Nope, I'm over here. Hi, Echizen. Looks like you're having some fun over there.

Ryoma groaned, shaking his head, and gasped, closing his eyes in pain, as his captor twisted his wrist. And then his captor stopped. "Gomen, Echizen. Are you hurt?"

Ryoma's eyes snapped open. "Oishi-senpai?"

His captor stuttered and laughed manically. "No, don't be silly. I do not know this Oishi person!"

Ryoma sighed. "I know it's you, Oishi-senpai." Only Oishi would apologize to a captive. "What do you want?"

Oishi laughed evilly, raspy. "I want . . . tomatoes."

"Sure, go right ahead."

"Really?"

"I took some from you. You can take some from me."

"Oh. Okay." Oishi let him go and gathered only about three tomatoes from Ryoma's stack of twenty. He was wearing a black shinobi outfit, the mask included. Ryoma pulled his hat over his eyes, and held a hand over his mouth. His mouth twitched. Explosive laughter threatened to escape him. "Neh, Oishi-senpai," he said when he felt that he had his voice under control.

"Nani?"

"Never play a villain."

"Oh. Okay, Echizen."

The extent of Oishi Syuichirou's diabolical anger does not extend very far.

Kaidoh was making something with onions and wasabi. It was his third attempt. The first time he had tried he had been pelted with vegetables by the rest if the Seigaku members. The second time he tried Inui used the wasabi in his Inui juice without asking. Kaidoh hissed to himself as he made his third attempt. He was carefully cutting salmon when he looked up. Inui was writing in his book again, glancing at him occasionally. "What are you writing?" he asked.

"I am changing your data. I didn't know you cooked."

Kaidoh blushed. "I cook with my mother."

Inui's pen went wild on the paper. "I see. This is a soft side we don't usually see of you. _Unless_ of course you happen to come across a drowning puppy."

Kaidoh hissed, moving his arm violently as he sliced his blade across the neck of a wide white eyed salmon, neatly cleaving the head off. "I'm going to _kill_ Momoshiro!" he rasped. He hissed out in horror. His violent motion with the knife had knocked over a glass of Inui Juice and it spilled on his already cut and prepared mixture of onions, wasabi, and salmon. His head drooped in anguish.

Inui's glasses were flashing again. "My Inui juice is ruined," the data player muttered.

"My salmon is ruined," Kaidoh shot back. "It's got that crap of yours all over it." Kaidoh suddenly sniffed and looked down at the mess, deep in thought. "Strange," he murmered.

Inui tilted his head to the side. "What is strange?"

Kaidoh did not answer. Instead he took the cooking tray, with all the mess on it, and put it into the oven to bake.

The other teams, who had witnessed what happened, turned green and covered their mouths. "Nya, what is Kaidoh doing?" Kikumaru asked Oishi.

Dressed back in his chef outfit Oishi shrugged. "I don't know. Let's get back to work. Wasabi, eggs, and cheese. Wasabi bread. Wasabi grilled tomatoes, cooked lightly in olive oil. It's all coming along pretty well."

"What are the others making?" Kikumaru asked.

"Kuwamaru is, of course, making sushi. Fuji has made wasabi custard. They have also made noodles and vegetables boiled in water and wasabi. And a whole bunch of other things."

"And Echizen and Momoshiro are making . . . are those hamburgers?"

Kikumaru stared. "They . . . they are making what they have every day after practice?" He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning angrily. "That isn't original."

"But they aren't really just hamburgers. Looks like their making them with crab meat, fish, scallops, and something else."

Kikumaru shuddered. "I don't want to try _that_. Let's get back to work."

So, in the minds of the teams, there was a resounding agreement that the Fuji-Kawamura pair or the Golden pair would win. And of course, no one thought a team with Inui on it had a chance.

To be continued . . .

Note: For those who didn't watch the episode, Kaidoh and Momoshiro saved a drowning puppy before a tennis tournament and were late. (Forgot what episode it was. Someone can find out if they want to and post it.)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef.

Thanks again for all your reviews. Seriously, this is the last post for a while. Need to finish paper that's due tomorrow. I'll start working on this again after finals.

Side Chapter: The Evil Brother

Skyla: (Stares at Kawamura's evil twin Kuwamaru in horror.) Gah! How did you get here?

Kuwamaru: (laughs evilly. Unlike his twin he was born in burning mode.) HA! IT'S ALL THANKS TO YOUR PATHETIC _**TYPO**_, BABY! HA HA HA HA!

Skyla: (Falls to her knees in anguish. The worst nightmare of the English Major has befallen her.) NOOOOOOOOO!

Thanks for finding the typo, Gwynhafra. I added two spellings of Kawamura's name onto Word by accidentally. I'll watch out for it more.

Everybody, enjoy the chapter and good luck to all those who have final exams coming up.

-Skyla Ladona

ooo

The man in the monk's robe walked towards Kitchen Stadium quietly with a cane, wearing sunglasses. A security man stopped him. "Hold up, old monk. You can't come in here."

The monk, his cane shaking in his weak left hand, reached out blindly with his right, fumbling to grip the guard's shoulder. "Wh-where is here? I smell . . . I smell such glorious food. Please. Will you let a blind man come in please? I'll be good. I just want to have something to eat. So hungry."

The monk staggered on his feet and the security guard steadied him, swearing. The guard called on his radio. "I've got a monk here. Staving, skin and bones, and blind. He needs food real bad. Has no idea where he is. I'm going to take him with me. Just for a couple of minutes."

The monk moaned, pitching forwards. The security guard caught him. The poor blind monk began to mutter. "So dark . . . so cold . . . I . . . I want to see, brother. I want to see your face again. Oh Buddha, let me see again!"

The security guard spoke through to his comrades again. "Scratch that. He'll stay with me for the whole show. I need to check to see if he'll make it through the night."

The monk mumbled, "Score!" under his breath.

"What was that, old monk?"

"Oh, _sore!_ So sore! So weak!"

"Hang in there, Mr. Monk! I'll help you!"

Meanwhile, while he was cutting up meat, Ryoma shivered, feeling deathly ill, and he clutched his chest. "Echizen, you alright?" Momo asked.

"I-I think so," Ryoma said, uncertain. "But, something does not feel right."

Speaker 1: "This is amazing! We have a new judge. It seems he just walked on from the streets. A lonely, blind monk! Wearing sunglasses!"

Any color Ryoma had drained from his face and he turned around slowly, very slowly, to look at the new guest.

The old monk was guided by two men to his seat. He sat down, weakly with a moan, and set his cane on the floor. When the cameras finally turned away from him he lowered his sunglasses slightly and looked right at Ryoma with an almond shaped brown eye and winked, grinning.

Ryoma's soul left him, weeping, _Oyaji! _

Speaker 1: "And suddenly Iron Chef Echizen Ryoma has collapsed on the floor! His teammates, all seven of them, are trying to revive him. Iron Chef Inui is holding a teaspoon of something to his mouth and OH MY _GOD! _I've never seen such a reaction before! _WHAT WAS IN THAT?_ Little Echizen Ryoma has become an angry beast, throwing back all his teammates with an incredible inhuman strength! He's foaming at the mouth! He's like a zombie, demon possessed, a soulless creature of destruction and death! He's really strong for a little guy! He broke that metal plate in half with just a finger! I really hope our judges don't have to drink whatever _that_ was!"

Speaker 2: "In all the history of Iron Chef I have never seen anything like this! All seven team mates are holding Echizen down and . . . what is that?"

Speaker 1: "It looks like a can of Ponta, Speaker 2."

Speaker 2: "What flavor?"

Speaker 1: "It is grape. They are trying to sooth the beast. It's clawing ravenously towards the monk's direction. Poor old man. He can't even _see_ his imminent danger."

Speaker 2: "Why Ponta? Is there any significance for it?"

Speaker 1: "I am not certain. It is said that in order to exercise a demon you have to find something to sooth its spirit before attempting to pull it out. Grape Ponta could have some significance for it. Legend has it that grapes were considered heavenly and hellish fruits, loved by both good and evil. To the demon possessing Echizen grapes might be its elixir, its life blood."

Speaker 2: "Is that legend real, or are you just pulling it out of your as—"

Speaker 1: "Yes, Speaker 2, I am just pulling it out of my behind. Speaking about behind, _everyone is_. It has been 35 minute now and our Iron Chefs are running out of time. If they don't get Echizen under control they will all fail."

Kawamura winced. Even _he_ was having trouble keeping Ryoma still as Fuji and Oishi tried to force feed Ponta to him. Kaidoh pinned down the first year's ankles, shivering with fear, muttering like a broken record player, "He's possessed. He's possessed. He's possessed." Experience with the racket of a rather loud first year named Horio told the team that Kaidoh did not really like ghosts, or any other supernatural creatures.

Momoshiro shouted at Inui over the Ryoma's unearthly earsplitting screeches, holding down his shoulders. "What the hell did you put in your juice this time?"

"Just some extra ingredients," Inui admitted.

"Hoi, you don't need more ingredients!" Eiji cried out. "You see how little Ochibi is acting? This is what we feel inside whenever we drink your stupid juice! Inside we are tearing ourselves apart, crying in grief as though the world will never be right again! Just look at him!" Tears fell dramatically down Kikumaru's cheeks. "Don't you feel ashamed with yourself?!"

"Not in the least," Inui said flatly. "It's not me he is angry with. Look who he is glaring at."

The team of seven turned and looked to towards the one Ryoma clawed and glared at, screeching wordlessly. It was the monk.

"Echizen," Fuji said. "Is _that_ the object of your rage?"

"_Haaaiiiii!"_ Ryoma rasped, teethed bared, gold eyes wild and shining like polished glass.

"What is its name?"

"_Oyyyaaaajiiiii!" _

Fuji rose to his feet and walked towards the monk, smiling down angelically. "Good monk. I must speak with you."

The monk raised his head. "Huh?" he said, looking about innocently. "Someone say something?"

"You know I am here, good monk. You can see me just fine."

"No, I can't."

Fuji smiled seductively and bent down. "Saaaaa." He murmered into the monk's ear, his breath warm. "I'm really a woman under this perfectly white chef's outfit, and I have to say, you have caught my eye."

The monk blinked and suddenly stood up, tearing off his sunglasses. "Oh Buddha! I can see! I CAN SEE! Come on, let's go somewhere!" He grabbed Fuji's hand and they frolicked off Kitchen Stadium. There was one thing the monk liked more than Iron Chef. Women. He was in for a rude awakening though.

Just as soon as the monk left, Ryoma was letting out another banshee shriek when he paused, blinking, and looked at everyone who was holding him down. "What are you doing?"

The team stared at Ryoma. "Is that you, Echizen?" Kawamura asked tentatively.

Ryoma blinked innocently. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You mean, you don't remember a thing?" Inui asked.

"Remember what?"

The team mates looked at each other in terror. It would be a sad day for the one who could get Echizen Ryoma this angry again. If he was ever like this on the tennis courts he'd give Kirihara, the devil himself, recurring nightmares.

Oishi looked about, worriedly. "Where is Fuji?"

Speaking of the angel, Fuji walked back to them, smiling serenely. "Let us get back to work."

Momoshiro whispered to him. "Is that monk gone? If he comes back, Echizen will flip."

"I made sure he would not come back." He waved his camera happily.

Meanwhile Echizen Nanjiro stood sadly leaning his head against the wall in an ally outside the Iron Chef Stadium. "That liar," he said, sniffling. "He said he was a woman . . . and would have been such a cute one too. He took a picture of me kissing a fish!" He clenched his hand. "I, Samurai Nanjiro, will not take my humiliation of swapping spit with a tuna lightly! Bishounen, I will have my revenge!"

Back at Kitchen Stadium, bishounen Fuji Syusuke sneezed explosively into his custard and had to make it all over again.

To be continued . . .

Food fact: In Portugal, Pizza Huts have another basic topping ingredient besides the cheese and the tomato sauce. Corn.

Try it. It actually tastes pretty good.


	6. Side Chapter: Battle of Speech

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef

I stayed up late tonight and decided to make a side chapter. I can't work on the main story till finals are done. This chapter's random, but I think it explains why we rarely hear from the Narrator. I was wondering about that my self. So you can consider this a normal chapter if you want to you or you can consider it as just a useless ramble.

Seigaku regulars make an appearance at the end.

Thank you again for all who have been giving me reviews and have been reading this. They make my day.

Hope you enjoy this random chapter.

-Skyla Ladona

Side Chapter

Battle of Speech

ooo

Narrator: "Hey . . . When am I able to talk again?"

Speaker 1: "What? Who are you?"

Narrator: "I'm the all powerful narrator!"

Speaker 2: "Narrator? Speaker 1, when did we ever have a narrator?"

Narrator: "At the beginning of the show!"

Speaker 2: "I wasn't asking you, you twit."

Narrator: Gasps in surprised and affronted shock. "You just called me a twit!"

Speaker 2: "Oh, you want me to call you something else? I've got a whole bunch of cuss words I've been saving for people like you."

Narrator: "Cuss words, huh? Well bring it on, string bean! I'm waiting!"

Speaker 2: "Oi! Oi! You did _not_ just call me a string bean!"

Narrator: "Carrot! Leek! Pickle!"

Speaker 2: "Well, you are a French fry! How's that, huh? HUH?!"

Speaker 1: "Ah . . . didn't you just say you were going to cuss at him?"

Speaker 2: "Well, you see, my colorful words are not suitable for this atmosphere. I must refrain from truly cursing on this pure and holy show of food perfection. I am a cultured, high class speaker who is restricted to the culinary variety of curses alone. For example." Speaker 2 clears his throat noisily. "Shrunken banana. Dried prune. Peanut. Baby gherkin. They are all very good non-explicit curse words, if I do say so myself, to show my utter lack of belief that Narrator here is endowed with any fruit larger than a strawberry or fresher than a raisin."

Narrator: "RAAAAAGH." Disembodied punches and blows ensue. "You want to fight, you $#!"

Speaker 2: "Bring it on, you )#)!"

Narrator: "YOU DID NOT JUST CALL ME A )#)!"

Speaker 2: "I did! And I'll do it again. )#)! )#)! )#)! )#)! )#)! )#)!"

Speaker 1: "OI! Speaker 2, you shouldn't be like that! We should respect Narrator as an honorable rival. We should let him have more opportunities to show his skills of speech."

Speaker 2: _"Mutter mutter mutter mutter mutter mutter."_

Speaker 1: "What was that? I couldn't hear you. Your resonance is terrible and your articulation is painfully weak."

Speaker 2: "I _said_ I'll let him speak some more! Are you happy?! I'll let him speak. But don't you _dare_ get too close to me, Narrator. I don't want you to cramp my style."

Narrator: "We are just three disembodied voices. How can I get close to you?"

Speaker 2: "Alright, well, direct that voice somewhere other than towards me."

Narrator: "But how can I? I am disembodied, therefore my voice has no direction and is directed from no source, and therefore directing it is impossible. And you have no body, because you are disembodied, and therefore I can not direct it towards you because you are not there and—"

Speaker 2: "SHUT UP!"

Speaker _**3**_: "Yeah! What he said!"

Speaker 1 and 2 and Narrator: " . . . . . . . Who the hell are you?"

Speaker 3: "Uh . . . I'm Speaker 3. Finally got over my laryngitis and I'm ready to talk now."

Speaker 2: " . . . Speaker 1? I know I promised to let Narrator do some talking, but . . . what about _this_ guy?"

Speaker 1: "The only other person I want talking who has the same first name as me is you. Speaker 3, you will have no speech in this production."

Speaker 3: "But why?!"

Speaker 1: "We just formed a clique and you're not in it."

Speaker 3: "That's not fair!"

Speaker 2: "Sorry, kid, but this is TV and TV says cliques are fair. Now go back home, dried up pasta."

Speaker 3: "Ragggghh! I will have my revenge, you . . . you . . . _old bacon_!"

Narrator: "Ouch! Now we're using Chaucerian swears!"

Speaker 3: "I can take a wild guess about what _that_ means! I'll ring your neck!"

Speaker 2: "Ha ha! I don't have a neck for you to ring!"

"Speaker 3: "I'll murder you!"

The Seigaku regulars, who had long since stopped cooking, stared in awe into the thin air, listening in shocked silence. Kaidoh was shaking, his face white, his hand holding a cutting knife. He trembled so much that his shaking hand cut through the onion on the counter without his direction. Over and over he muttered, "Disembodied voices. Disembodied voices. Disembodied voices."

"Oi, what's going on?" Momo murmered, just as terrified as Kaidoh but proudly trying his best not to show it.

"Saa. I have no clue" Fuji answered.

Kikumaru, frowning, stuffed his ears with bread . . . but the bread was too porous and did nothing to block out the sound. "Hoi! Someone make them shut up!"

"Minna. Let's do our best and . . . ignore it," Oishi said, wincing as a particularly loud bellow shook Kitchen Stadium.

Ryoma sighed, glaring at the thin air. His hand clenched slightly, as though he held a racket in one hand, the other cupping the air as if he held a tennis ball. Stepping back to perform an invisible serve, he threw an invisible ball in the air and smashed it.

There was a bloodcurdling scream and then silence.

Speaker 2: " . . . Oi. I think Iron Chef Echizen killed Speaker 3."

A groan issues from thin air.

Speaker 2: "I guess not. We're going to have to ask Echizen to serve again."

Speaker 1: "No, Speaker 3's unconscious and that is how I would like to keep him."

Narrator: "Oi . . . did anyone notice I only had 12 lines in this whole chapter? 13, counting this one? And every one else has had . . . 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 . . ."

Speaker 1: "Let's leave before he finishes counting."

Speaker 2: "Sure thing."

Narrator: " . . . 14, 15, 16, 17—Hey! Speaker 2 had 18 lines! That's not fair! It's not fair at all! It . . . Hello? Hello! Aren't you guys there? Hell, how am to know? All you have to do is shut up and I think I'm alone! Come on! Answer me! Answer me, damn it! ANSWER ME!"

Ryoma served another invisible serve and the narrator fell silent soon after he screeched.

To be continued . . .

Go on the youtube website right now and search for Shounen Onmyouji 1. It is the first episode of a really good anime about Shikigami, priests, shape-shifting gods, demons, humor, angst, romance between different classes, and a good dose of violence and fighting. It was originally a light novel and was never a manga. If you like the anime, please continue watching more and search youtube using multiple spellings of the anime title. (For example: take out the "u" in both words or leave a "u" in one and take it out from the other.)

For Fuji fans:

I have always wondered why Masahiro, the main character of this anime, sounded so familiar. On further research about our very own Fuji Syusuke I discovered that his voice actor, Yuki Kaida, is the same one as Masahiro. (She's done a lot.) Of course, Masahiro is very different from Fuji but he's still lovable.

For non-Fuji fans:

Go check out Shounen Onmyouji anyway. It's brand new and was just released on Japanese TV last year. It has good art work and a good plot. The subbed episodes on youtube go up to episode 12 so far, but there are raw episodes and Chinese subbed episodes that go up to 18. Check those out too. If you know enough words like "hello" "good bye" "grandson" and "I'm home" then you can get through the show with a relatively good idea about what is going on. Hopefully, if the series gets popular enough, it'll be put on fan fiction some day.

So please check it out.

-Skyla Ladona


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef. Someone else does . . .

I decided to post this next one early. (In other words, FanFiction is addicting, especially reviews. I also am a stooge because I said I would be if I went on FanFiction again before exams were done.) Please review. It will make me happy and enthusiastic for these horrible tortures college professors have the audacity to call "exams."

Please watch **Shounen Onmyouji**. It's awesome. The subbed chapters of 13-15 are up on youtube and probably other places on the web. I wrote the details about the anime at the bottom of the side chapter.

_ShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyouji Obey this subliminal message or I will start putting it in all the chapters. _

_Just kidding . . . or am I? _

Enjoy this next chapter!

-Skyla Ladona

ooo

"Hoi! Hoi! How many more minutes are left?!" Kikumaru yelled out.

"Not enough!" most of Seigaku regulars yelled back.

"Nya, that doesn't help me!" Kikumaru complained.

"20, Kikumaru," Fuji answered serenely with a smile. Amazingly Fuji had been able to remake his custard from scratch. He was adding the finishing touches to all his food. Kawamura was just as serene as he was.

Kaidoh was busy chopping some leeks and glanced over at Inui. The data player was chuckling to himself as he wrote notes. He was presently observing Momoshiro and Echizen . . . The two of them were not doing so well. They were arguing about the amount of wasabi they needed in the sauce. "We need more!" Momo shouted.

"Think of yourself, Momo-senpai. How much wasabi can you handle?"

Momo puffed out his chest. "A lot."

"You can't handle even a cup of Inui's juice and you're boasting about being able to eat three of wasabi?"

"You couldn't even handle a teaspoon of it a few minutes ago!"

"Aeh? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, never mind!"

Inui wrote down some more notes, smiling wickedly.

Kaidoh's eyebrow twitched again. "Inui-senpai. I think you forgot, but you are supposed to be cooking."

"I am done," Inui said confidently.

"We are not going to feed them what you fed Echizen. Help me chop."

"I will feed them it. I want to analyze the judges' reactions."

"_Fhhhhhssssuuuuu_," he Kaidoh hissed and closed his eyes, a black eyebrow twitching. "Inui-senpai . . . I predict a 100 percent chance that all three judges will have the same reaction: They all won't like it."

"Then why are you cooking your fish in it?"

" . . . Don't know."

Echizen was standing by the oven, anxiously tapping his foot. "Che, this isn't cooking fast enough." With a little frown he turned up the temperature as far as it could go and waited five minutes.

"Echizen, how is that batch of fries coming?" Momoshiro looked up. He was grilling the burger patties.

"They're still not cooked enough, so I turned up the temperature."

Momoshiro blinked. "How much did you turn it up?"

Ryoma shrugged. "All the way."

"NANI!"

As if on cue their overheated oven began rattle violently. The other Seigaku regulars looked up in shock as the smoke began to literally hiss from the overheated time bomb.

"It's gonna blow!" Momo shouted. "Duck and cover!"

The oven rattled and shook, smoke issuing forth from all the cracks. Fire alarms went off. With the amount of cooking that was done on Iron Chef, it was a wonder why the fire alarms never chose to go off on any other episode but this one. Screws popped out. With an explosion of pressurized, fire hot air, the oven let out a loud, fiery belch, opening wide to unleash a conflagration of flames onto kitchen stadium.

"BURNING!"

"Not now, Kawamura!" the regulars yelled.

"No. Really. I'm **BURNING! **NOT GREATO! I'M _**BURNING**_!" Kawamura's white chef outfit was in flames as he ran back and forth over the stadium, arms flailing wildly.

"Stop drop and roll!" Oishi yelled.

"Dad told me that doesn't work!"

"Nya?" Kikumaru cried. "Of course it does! Smoky would never lie!"

"WHO THE HELL IS SMOKY, _DAMN IT!"_

"JUST DO IT!"

Kawamura fell to the floor and rolled for the life of him. Inui ran over and drenched him with Inui juice to help put out the fire . . .

Though, somehow, the ingredients turned out to be flammable. Kawamura screamed and rolled back and forth at a speed that would have put Kamio, the speed demon, to shame in his futile attempt to stop the chemical fire. Inui looked dumbfounded at his empty jug. "I have created an organic fuel," he murmered, and straightened his glasses. "There was a 75 percent chance that—"

"_INUI!" _

(Note, the fire alarm went off. Where are the firemen? . . . They're busy watching Iron Chef.)

In a sweeping motion Oishi grabbed the closest thing available to put out the fire: custard. He threw the contents over Kawamura and the fire miraculously went out after a few more of the power player's energetic rolls.

Fuji looked at his empty bowl of custard quietly. Then he smiled. "Saa. I think I have to make some more again."

Ryoma walked cautiously to the oven and stared inside. The fire had gone out . . . and all that was left of his fries were dark, black husks. He touched one with a spatula tentatively. It collapsed into a pile of dusty charcoal. "They were burnt."

His blunt obvious statement earned him yet another smack on the back of the head from Momoshiro. "Of course they got burnt! You turned the oven up all the way!" He held his hands over his face. "What are we going to do now?"

(_Wait for it, wait for it . ._ .)

"Mada mada dane."

Ryoma had gotten so accustomed to Momo's physical abuse during the last 45 minutes that he ducked immediately, the swipe of Momo's hand grazing the air just above his hat. Ryoma smiled smugly and stepped back. "I think I've gotten a hang of cooking now, Momo-senpai."

"I don't believe it for a second, Echizen."

On the floor, Chairman Kaga was rocking back and forth. "My Kitchen Stadium," he sobbed quietly, sucking his thumb. "My masterpiece. My fortune. These . . . these little _monsters_ are going to destroy it before the hour is done." He began to weep. His glossy black hair was now reduced to balding patches.

"Here, Chairman Kaga," a camera man said soothingly, his worry lines deepening when the chairman began to sing a lullaby in broken falsetto. He held out a shiny vegetable like you would hold out an ice cream cone to a sobbing toddler. "Here's one of those yellow peppers you like so much. You know, the ones you eat on every single show—"

"I don't want those damn yellow peppers! _I hate them!_ The only reason I eat them is because they are aesthetically pleasing to the eye, not because they taste good!"

Ryoma looked up from the burnt mess of charcoal in his oven to the ceiling, clenching his hands. His gold eyes were determined. "I am Seigaku's Pillar," he murmered. "I will find a way."

Meanwhile, in Kyuushu, Tezuka Kunimitsu rubbed his forehead. His frown was deeper than usual. "Echizen," he said. "Be Seigaku's Pillar . . . when you are on a tennis court. When you are in a kitchen, especially if you are ever in mine, don't touch _anything_."

To be continued . . .

Food fact: In Europe, KFCs don't have biscuits or mash potatoes like they do in the U.S. Instead they have French fries.

Note: Smoky is a reference to Smoky Bear, a wild life symbol that raises awareness about forest fires. He was originally a real bear cub that was rescued after the devastation of a forest fire in the 50's. Just in case someone reading didn't know.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef.

Hello! The long wait is over and I can now continue to shower you with crazy, egg baking and potato burning tennis players. It might take a while till the next chapter comes in. I like to keep ahead of schedule by typing chapters in advance.

Thanks again for your reviews and I hope exams and end-of-the-year-crazy-projects-your-teachers-assign-just-to-tickle-their-funnybones went well for everyone. And for those of your who aren't done, don't worry be happy!

Oooo oo oo ooo oo oo ooo! (Enter happy musical notes here.)

Hope you enjoy!

-Skyla Ladona

ooo

Fuji's wide-open eyes appeared as though they were ready to fall out of his head. And if _he_ looked like this, you can only imagine what the rest of Seigaku regulars looked like as they watched Echizen.

Kaidoh blinked. "Did I miss something?" he muttered.

Inui's jaw dropped. He jammed it back shut again with his hand and looked down at his neatly compiled data. "I have been watching him for approximately 5 minutes . . . and during the period of each one he has become increasingly . . . _better_. Just five minutes ago he improved 2 times more than he did five minutes before that."

Kawamura peered down at Inui's notes, trying to decipher all the equations and square roots to no avail. "Then . . . how much better is he than when he blew up the oven?"

" . . . Echizen is a pro now."

Wordlessly, the regulars watched as Ryoma cut through the potatoes, graceful as a calligrapher, his eyes flashing silently as they reflected the silver shimmer of the blade.

Momo, staring open mouth, groaned loudly. "Why does this always happen? It's like billiards all over again! He starts off like a toddler . . . and then he starts teaching his teachers not even an hour later!"

"I have come to realize that Echizen Ryoma cannot be compared to a normal human being," Fuji said.

Inui sighed and dropped his notebook. He stepped on it, much to everyone's shock. "He's immune to it," he growled.

Kaidoh hissed, a little proud (though he would never admit it to others) that Echizen was once again beating Inui's data to a pulp. He couldn't stand data tennis.

"Neh, senpai-tachi . . ." Ryoma called. "Shouldn't you be doing something?"

The senpai-tachi in question blinked and stared up at the clock. There was less than ten minutes left.

"WAHHHHH! WE'RE WASTING TIME!"

They got back to work quickly, finishing the last touches on their food. Kaidoh took his fish out from the oven, vapor rising from it. He sniffed it. It was the Inui Juice fish. Inui took a step closer, frowning slightly, and sniffed as well. He gasped. "What . . . what is this?"

Kaidoh hissed quietly, closing his eyes. "The judges will never know," he murmured calmly. He covered it to keep it warm and set it on the counter.

Ryoma set all his food in the ovens and stood back, waiting, and sipped a can of Ponta. "How can you be so calm?" Momo asked, frustrated.

Ryoma shrugged. "Everything is almost done."

"No it—" Momo sniffed. He could smell . . . something _really_ good. "Is that _our_ food?"

"Hai, Momo-senpai."

Momo nearly tore open the oven to make certain before Ryoma stopped him. "Don't open it. Keep the heat in."

"But you'll burn the food again!"

"Not this time. I learned my lesson."

"But we only have ten minutes! You can't cook these that fast!"

"Relax, Momo-senpai. Trust me."

Momo shook his head in exasperation and collected the burgers from the grill. "These are done. I hope you really are a good cook now, Echizen, or you are buying lunch for the next six months."

"Che."

Kikumaru and Oishi were having minor dilemmas. "Nya! I don't think this tastes good at all!"

Oishi laughed. "Of course it doesn't. Not to you. You don't like wasabi." Oishi said and scratched the back of his head. "And neither do I. We need a taste tester." Oishi looked up. Fuji was walking by, smiling. He was finished with all his cooking. "Fuji. Could you come here if you aren't busy?"

Fuji nodded and walked over. "What is it, Oishi?"

"Could you taste test, please? We can't tell if it's good . . . we actually don't like wasabi."

Fuji's eyebrow rose very slightly. _That is not a surprise, _he thought. None of the regulars liked it besides himself. _Sigh_. It was a shame. "I'll test it," he said.

"Fuji-senpai," Ryoma called as well. "Could you test over here too?"

"Hai, Echizen."

"Fuji, could you—"

"No, Inui, I will not test at your table." _Not after what happened on bowling day, _Fuji thought quietly.

While Fuji helped the other teams Momo was running about getting things prepared for the judges. He set the wasabi bun on the plate and then put down the wasabi burger. Then he added the other toppings. "Echizen!" he called.

"They're done." Ryoma pulled out the tray with a potholder and set it down on the counter.

"Oi, I forgot something," Momo said. He ran away from the counter . . . and crashed right into Kaidoh. They fell to the floor in a jumbled heap. Momo recovered from the shock of the impact first and glared at Kaidoh's sneaker, which was just a few inches from his face. "Oi, Mamushi!" He pushed at the shake player roughly. "Get off me!"

"You get off!" They pushed and shoved each other even when they had both gotten to their feet, roaring in each other's face. They were long over due for a fight.

"Oi! Let go of my apron!"

"You let go!"

Momo backed up and grabbed a tomato. He threw it at Kaidoh. Kaidoh ducked . . .

There was a crash and a loud splatter.

Both sophomores blinked and looked down. Their jaws dropped.

Fuji's wasabi custard had fallen all over the floor, knocked over by the tomato.

Kiadoh stabbed an accusing finger at Momo's nose. "It's all your fault, Momoshiro-baka!"

"My fault? Well, if you hadn't ducked then—" They both grew silent upon hearing the approach of quiet footsteps. .

Fuji, returning from Ryoma's counter, looked serenely down at the floor at the mess. "Gomen, Fuji," Momo said with a weak smile and chuckled. Kaidoh looked just as apologetic as he did. "I guess you're going to have to make more custard . . . again."

Fuji's eyebrow twitched. A disembodied breeze blew through his honey colored hair. Momo's laughter died a quick death. Kaidoh clutched at his heart, shivering. The room was frigid. Fuji stood still, holding his wooden spoon in two hands as he continued to gaze _very_ serenely down at his fallen wasabi custard. His hands clenched, knuckles paling.

The wooden spoon snapped in half.

Momo and Kaidoh's faces went white with sheer and unimaginable terror—

—For the fiercest blue eyes they had ever seen drifted open to glare at them both, cerulean flames blazing in those deadly orbs.

"_SAAAAAAAAAA_!" Fuji leaned back, a cutting board in one hand, two kiwis in the other. His aura blazed like frozen fire. "I WANT TO MAKE MY WASABI CUSTARD AND HAVE IT LIVE FOR MORE THAN FIFTEEN MINUTES!" He hurled the kiwis into the air and smashed them with the force of a thousand storms. Both furry fruits of fury smashed Momo and Kaidoh in the faces. They crashed to the floor, out cold.

Fuji, still glaring at the fallen evildoers, heard with abnormal clarity the frantic scrape of a pen on paper. He took up another kiwi and, with a deft serve, knocked out the data tennis player.

Fuji turned around. His eyes were positively glowing. The other regulars felt the bottoms fall out of their stomachs. Kikumaru grabbed Oishi for safety, shivering in fear.

Then the tensai smiled serenely, his eyes closing. The fiery blue gates of the underworld were shut and the great wind vanished. "We should be getting back to work now," Fuji said cheerfully.

The rest of the team ran back to their counters without a word, cold sweat beading from every pore on their skin.

To be continued . . .

Food fact: When you eat any questionable looking seafood in front of friends, like clams right out of the shell, scrod with a few bones in it, or squid that still has its tentacles, 9 times out of 10 there will be more than one friend at the table who find it uncomfortable to watch you.

Since that really wasn't a proven fact (since it's really just mine) here's another. According to our very own Kaidoh on the "Prince of Bowling" episode, black vinegar is good for you.

Another note (as if I don't give enough already) Momo's "billiards" reference is to the Prince of Billiards Episode. Ryoma becomes the master of the pool tables in only a few minutes.

_ShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyoujiShounenOnmyouji_


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or Iron Chef.

Sorry this chapter took so long. You have to let creativity grow up like a baby, not force it to grow or it will become some deranged, underdeveloped, pile of discombobulation. (_Word_ does not say this is a word, but I think it should be.)

Thanks again for everyone's reviews!

ooo

Speaker 1: "This is the moment we've all been waiting for."

Speaker 2: "And longing for! After this judging the regulars are going to leave for good and Kitchen Stadium will be saved!"

Speaker 3: "Yeah, but Chairman Kaga's sanity can't be saved at all."

Speaker 1: ". . . Speaker 3, go back to sleep."

The Seigaku regulars looked about, sighing with contentment. They were done. The horror was over. The food was made. According to Fuji's taste testing everyone's dishes were acceptable . . . of course, he hadn't judged Inui's.

Momoshiro and Kaidoh glanced at Fuji quietly. The tensai stood smilingly serenely. To everyone's utter amazement he was able to make the custard again . . . It was rather impossible to accomplish in just 10 minutes. Momo and Kaidoh gulped as Fuji's eyes opened ever so slightly to send a glare their way.

Fuji was _definitely_ the type to hold a grudge.

Another impossibility, of course, was Ryoma's improvement. The freshman stood artistically placing his food on the plates, eyes shimmering with concentration.

Kaidoh hissed quietly, put his hands together, and closed his eyes, his food placed in front of him on the counter. Kikumaru watched, confused. "Kaidoh, what—"

Kaidoh hissed for silence. "I'm praying," he murmered.

Momoshiro, watching from nearby, snickered. "That's going to have to be a powerful prayer," he said.

Kaidoh, surprisingly, did not answer. That pissed Momo off more than any comeback Kaidoh could wield against him. "Oi! Mamushi! Listen to m—"

Inui clapped a hand over his mouth and murmered, "You of all people know what happens when someone interrupts Kaidoh while he's praying. Remember lunch the other day?"

"How would you know about that?" Momo murmered back.

Inui pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I have my sources. I think that is when you received that large egg on the back of your head."

Momo rubbed the bump with a frown. "So? And what is Kaidoh thinking anyway? You two aren't going to win just by praying."

Inui frowned. "We will win."

"But you made your juice. _You_ don't even like it. Obviously you have no chance of winning if you were the cook."

Inui stood still, silent. His face slowly turned white. Finally, for the first time that day, he took in the weight of the words that had been constantly spoken to him. "What have I done?" he whispered. He looked back at Kaidoh and, in a burst of motion, fell before the snake player onto one knee and clasped his hands, looking up at him earnestly. "Pray, Kaidoh! Pray to every god you can think of!"

Fuji decided to take a picture of the odd occasion with his camera, smiling serenely. "Saa. Young love."

Chairman Kaga, who usually ate the dishes as well, was absent from the judging. He had unfortunately fainted from overstress.

Oishi and Kikumaru's dishes were judged first. The Golden Pair stood smiling, both a little nervous, though still confident. The judges nodded their approval after they had tasted each dish. The pair grinned at each other in victory until they looked at Fuji and Kawamura in apprehension. The pair stood just as confidently as they did.

When the judges tried their dishes the actress, Kyoko, gave a long sigh of appreciation. "This custard . . . I don't know why. It is amazing! Such flavor! Such elegance!" She smiled and blushed over at the charmingly beautiful Fuji who smiled back serenely.

Momoshiro and Kaidoh sighed in relief. If she had said anything negative about the wasabi custard they both knew Fuji would have blamed them both for it.

Kawamura, proud that his sushi was a success, patted Momoshiro's shoulder. "You're next. Good luck."

Momo looked over at Ryoma and gulped. Sure, it looked as though Ryoma could cook. But that did not mean he _actually_ could. Momo would just have to find out. Ryoma confidently set his dishes before the judges.

The four of them gazed doubtfully at the food. "It looks like fast food," artist Yamato Yuki said in disapproval. However, when the four of them bit into the burgers and fries their eyes grew huge.

"Wonderful!" The third judge, another actor by the name of Uta Hajime, looked as though he had just floated to heaven. "This is a gourmet dinner in disguise! I like it! And there is just enough wasabi!"

Ryoma smiled smugly at Momoshiro. He had eventually persuaded Momo-senpai to cut back on the amount of wasabi he was planning to use. Momo scowled back at him. "What are you looking at?" he muttered, dark eyes narrowing.

Kikumaru elbowed Momoshiro in the abdomen. "Hoi!" he whispered. "It's Inui and Kaidoh's turn."

The regulars watched with bated breath as Kaidoh quietly placed his dishes before the judges. The four judges had witnessed the many effects of Inui's special juices. They stared at the cuisine rather warily. Kaidoh stood back, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes, frowning. Inui had his notebook and pencil ready. Even if he failed to become Iron Chef he would use the failure to his advantage. Just how would these people react to his juice?

The first person brave enough to take the first plunge into the salmon was the fourth judge, politician Shinamori Takashi. With a "Hmmph!" he drew back his sleeves and held up his chops sticks like they were weapons. He delved into a corner of the fillet, lifted it to his mouth, and ate.

"I give him points for courage," Momoshiro whispered.

Suddenly the politician gasped and gripped his throat, his eyes widening, his face contorting drastically. Sweat beaded down his greening face. "O—o—" he gasped.

The Seigaku regulars sighed. In the end, it was never debatable that anything made by Inui would be determined inedible.

The politician threw back his head and lifted his arms. "_Oishii!_" he cried.

The regulars turned to look at Oishi, confused. "Strange," Fuji murmered. "In the throws of death Shinamori-san called out your name."

Kikumaru punched Oishi in the arm, eyes narrowing. "Do you have a secret life you're not telling me about?"

Beads of sweat fell down Oishi's brow. "N-no. I could be entirely wrong but . . . well, if I was wrong, and he wasn't calling me, then he was saying—"

"_OISHII__!" _Shinamori cried out again, his eyes bright with . . . joy?

The regulars were suddenly rendered unable to understand their own language. In a rush of movement they found an English-Japanese dictionary (I don't know where _or_ how they got it) and they searched for the odd sounding word. When they came upon the meaning even Fuji was blinking with bemused confusion. "Oishii: Delicious. Nice flavor. Tastes good."

It took a rather long moment for the word to sink in. When it did their jaws dropped as though they were weighed down by lead. "EHHHH?!"

"Inui" and "delicious" were never seen close by unless accompanied by a negative.

The other three judges delved into their fillet and ate. They had the same reactions as Shinamori. They threw out their arms and cried out _"Oishii!"_ Their eyes shown like brilliant stars.

Kyoko laughed happily, blushing red as she clasped her hands close to her face and swayed in her seat like a drunk. "Such a heavenly aroma! Like the sun itself!"

Uta Hajime pumped his fist energetically. "Such a fantastic burst of flavor!"

Yamato broke down into tears and cried hoarsely. "Such art! Such passion!"

In unison the four judges turned towards Inui, goofy smiles on their face. If the regulars weren't mistaken the four judges looked . . . _a little_ . . . high. "What is in this?!"

Inui flipped the pages of his notebook to a certain section and opened his mouth to speak. Momoshiro and Kawamura promptly tackled him to the ground before he could.

The four judges turned their starry, toxic induced gaze onto Kaidoh. "You!" They jabbed their pointer fingers at him. Kaidoh, eyes wide in horror, hissed like a cat and backed a step away in surprise. "You are the greatest Iron Chef who ever lived!" Kyoko leapt dramatically from her seat over the table and gave Kaidoh a big hug and a kiss, clinging onto his shoulders. The snake player blushed crimson.

However, when Yamato, Shinamori, and Uta tried to perform the same act as Kyoko Kaidoh fled, the actress still clinging onto him as she happily giggled like a school girl.

Watching Kaidoh run all over Kitchen Stadium, a victim to the judges' praises, the regulars were silent, their jaws still dropped. "I have to know," Momoshiro muttered, "what god Kaidoh prayed to."

Chairman Kaga awoke right before the time of scoring came. It took all of his energy just to walk down the stairs to stand before everyone. The lights were making him nauseous. The applause made him stagger a little, as though every little noise could potentially be an explosion. He looked over at the Seigaku Chefs and sighed. Soon. . . _soon_ they would be gone.

"Seigaku . . ." he began. "Seigaku has taught us that cooking is not just an art . . . it is _warfare_. A battle where the weak do not last long. They have taught me . . . to strive through hardship and woe." He gave a long sigh. "Now the verdict."

Narrator: "Today in kitchen stadium we witnessed our first culinary battle between middle schoolers and believe me, I don't think Chairman Kaga will plan to do that again. Today all eight tennis players have shown their strange and extraordinary gifts not just in tennis but in cooking. But who takes the title of Iron Chef?! Whose cuisine reigns supreme?!"

Chairman Kaga looked helplessly over at the four happily grinning and drugged judges, strongly doubting the final scores. He announced rather weakly, "Kaidoh and Inui!"

Narrator: "And Inui-Kaidoh team wins it! I don't believe it! Really, I don't! It's insane! But that's fine! The Seigaku regulars are gone from Kitchen Stadium for good!"

The cheering that erupted from the stadium was deafening. Finally, the regulars would be going home.

ooo

Once again the regulars found themselves walking down the streets of Tokyo, dressed in their tennis jerseys. They glanced at Kaidoh and Inui every once in a while, veins popping on their foreheads. Something was wrong with the idea of Inui becoming an Iron Chef.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion. The regulars turned a condemning eye onto the smallest of the group. Ryoma was once again bouncing a tennis ball on the edge of his racket, eyes closed. He opened one eye to regard the other seven. "Nani?" he asked.

Five fire trucks rushed past them, sirens blaring. Screams of terror filled the air. The regulars turned and their mouths opened in shock.

The building where Kitchen Stadium once stood was an apocalyptic fireball. "It's the end of the world!" someone wailed.

Chairman Kaga staggered onto a burning ledge of the building, staring about him in horror and grief as the world turned to ash around him. "My stadium!" he cried. "My fortune! My . . . my DREAM!" He screamed wordlessly as the building collapsed beneath him and sank slowly into the ground below.

And so it was that Kitchen Stadium fell into oblivion . . .

The regulars turned to look at Ryoma again, eyes narrowed. "Ech-i-zen," they murmered dangerously, adding a small break in between each syllable to punctuate their anger.

Ryoma blinked back at them innocently and pointed a finger accusingly at Inui. The data tennis player was quietly writing down more notes in his notebook. "Inui," Oishi said. "Did . . . did you give the judges a parting gift?"

Inui nodded. "The special Inui Juice of the day."

Momoshiro's eyebrow twitched. "You gave the judges more of that mind altering hallucinogen and flammable chemical weapon? Did you give it to anyone else?"

"The stage hands, Chairman Kaga, the security guards, the—"

The regulars knocked Inui over the head with a frozen tuna, hoisted him like a long log of wood over their shoulders, and ran in the opposite direction of the conflagration.

To be continued . . .

Kaidoh actually prayed before lunch during one of the episodes. I do not know which one though.

Food fact . . . salmon tastes _good_.

Real food fact: Salmon are born in freshwater and then migrate to saltwater. When they are going to spawn they move back to fresh water. Most of them return to the same place they were born. Right after they spawn they die a few days later. Sniffle, sniffle.

If you ever have the chance to cook salmon I'd suggest baking it or grilling it. If you are not a fish type of person smoked salmon might be a good option for you to try.

Salmon Rice Recipe: (If you have another name for it suggest one.)

Salmon goes _really_ well with rice. Rice is a good food to use when you can afford only a little salmon because it's filling.

Bake the salmon for 20 minutes at 350 degrees F in the oven. I bake my fish in water to keep it moist. (In other words I poach it.) To add a little flavor, add some salt to the water and other spices like paprika and parsley.

Cook the rice using the handy dandy microwave oven while following the directions on the box. I use brown rice. It's healthier.

At the same time fry a favorite mix of vegetables, like broccoli, with soy sauce or any other sauce in a frying pan. Alfredo sauce would go well with the vegetables and salmon too.

After the salmon is baked (Hint, to find out if it is cooked enough check to see if the white oils are foaming out of it) cut a _small_ portion of the salmon off, chop it up, and mix it with the rice. (note: make sure you let the rice sit for five minutes after you make it before taking the cover off or it won't be fluffy enough.)

Place the rest of the fillet in the center of the plate and then place the rice with the chopped salmon around it.

Take the grilled broccoli and spread the stems around the outside edge of the plate.

This dinner doesn't take long to make. It takes about a half an hour if you're frying the vegetables while the rice is cooking and while the salmon is baking.

Of course, if you don't like salmon I assume you could use another fish. Scrod, pollock, or any other fish would be fine to use too. If you don't like fish use chicken.

Feel free to share some more recipes.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis. Nor do I own Tezuka, but I would like to.

Tezuka: (Looks at Skyla emotionlessly. Raises a peculiar looking can and sprays it right in her face.)

Skyla: Gah! My eyes! My beautiful eyes!

(Rest of the Seigaku regulars point and laugh.)

Fuji: I suppose you took my advice, Tezuka. Pepper spray works well against fan girls, ne?

Thanks so much for reviewing this story and thanks for reading it. It was fun to write. Hopefully I'll have my next fan fiction up and going soon.

I hope you enjoy this last chapter of _Prince of Cooking. _

ooo

Tezuka walked into the Kyuushu rehabilitation center from his morning jog, drinking from a bottle of mineral water. His stomach gave a growl. He was hungry. It was 10:00 already and he still hadn't eaten anything even though he woke up at 6:00.

He walked towards the cafeteria. Upon opening the door he paused, staring at the strange and horrifying sight before him.

The Seigaku regulars, bedecked in their suave chef outfits, greeted him with wide grins . . . except for Kaidoh who didn't grin in public, Ryoma who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes (it was a long, sleepless flight from Tokyo), and Inui who was already writing down notes in that infernal notepad of his.

Tezuka made to slide the door shut again when he was pushed from behind by his doctor, Hirosato. "Your friends came here _all_ the way from Tokyo to make some food for you," he said happily. "So go eat and enjoy it!" He shoved Tezuka into the cafeteria and slid the door shut with a smash behind him.

An evil grin pulled the corners of Hirosato's mouth to his ears. _Finally, _he thought maniacally. _I get to pay him back!_

Poor Hirosato had once been a confident doctor. He was considered one of the brightest in his field of study. When he was twenty he already had a healing aura only the wisest of doctors could ever achieve . . .

Of course, that was before the emotionless Tezuka Kunimitsu showed up at Kyuushu. He disobeyed his doctors by practicing that infernal tennis in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night. He didn't talk. He didn't say thank you . . . well, he did, but Hirosato _just knew_ that the boy didn't mean it. Tezuka was just an immovable rock of annoyance, what with his rude manners and his emotionless stare. His very presence made Hirosato a nervous wreck.

_Let's see how you fare when your patience is shot in the heart by this group of hooligans, _the doctor thought.

Flashback:

_Doctor Hirosato raised his head and frowned as eight middle school boys walked through the door of the rehabilitation center. The youngest was swaying, knocking his head once or twice against his seniors as he nodded to sleep standing up. "Who are you here for?" Hirosato asked. _

"_Tezuka Kunimitsu," a boy with a strange buzz cut said amicably. "We are the Seigaku tennis team." _

"_Tezuka-kun is out jogging," the doctor said. "And today's not a visiting day, boys." _

"_Nya! We came all the way from Tokyo!" said a boy with red hair. He was bouncing up and down as though on a sugar high. _

"_Too bad. You'll have to lea—" The doctor's eyes widened with recognition. "Wait a minute . . . are you the same Tennis team that was on Iron Chef?"_

_The eight boys nodded. "Hai," said a tall, spiky haired youth. "We came here so we could cook breakfast for Tezuka." _

_A boy with a bandana on his head hissed. "Baka. He probably already ate breakfast." _

_The tall boy rounded on the bandana-wearing middle schooler. "What did you say Mamushi?!"_

_The doctor smiled slowly, his glasses flashing. "You may cook for him." _

_The eight turned towards him with surprise. The two rivals paused in their battle, the taller one holding the other by the throat. "Really?"_

"_Of course. After all. You _are_ Iron Chefs." _

End of Flashback:

The doctor clasped his hands, his smile evil, his eyes demonic with vengeance as he stared at the back of the door. This was a _very good_ day indeed, for he had seen, on the TV, the vast and amazingly destructive talent of these so called "Iron Chefs." He was also certain that the Middle School Tennis Captain saw the show as well. The haunted, half-dead look Hirosato was shocked to discover on Tezuka's face the other day was proof of this.

Hirosato broke out into hysterical laughter "Die, Tezuka Kunimitsu! _Die a horrible death!"_

Oishi smiled, listening to Hirosato's "friendly" giggling. "What a nice doctor. I wonder why he changed his mind about letting us stay."

Fuji shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Saa. I do not know." He looked at Tezuka serenely. "Good morning, Tezuka. We are here to make you breakfast."

Tezuka's frown deepened. "I already had it." His stomach betrayed him by growling rather loudly.

"Ufufufu," Fuji chuckled. "Do not lie."

Inui held up a steaming jug filled with a green, vile looking liquid. "I have already made you some good morning juice."

The Seigaku regulars backed away, paling and trembling. "Inui," Kawamura said, nervously. "Is that—?"

"Hai," Inui murmered, glasses flashing. "I made this during Iron Chef, right Kaidoh?"

Kaidoh was presently hugging the garbage can as he lost all the contents of his airline breakfast in it.

Inui continued his speech as if he did not notice. "I have decided to call it 'Apocalypse.'"

"Good name for it," Momoshiro murmered.

Trying not to look too much at the steaming jug, while attempting to block out the loud, horrible noises coming from Kaidoh at the garbage can, Oishi turned to smile at the still emotionless Buchou. "Take a seat, Tezuka, and we'll make breakfast for you."

Tezuka would have opened his mouth to protest but he closed it when Inui waved the jug of "Apocalypse" before him dangerously. Quietly Tezuka took a seat.

Speaker 1: "And we're back!"

Speaker 2: "Looks like the Seigaku regulars are at it again. Right away at the beginning of Mission Make-Buchou-Some-Eggs-and-Bacon they're all battling for domination in the kitchen."

Speaker 1: "Who gets the egg first? Oh! It's Echizen! But Fuji trips him . . . again! It's another cat fight between the prodigies, so get your cameras! Momoshiro and Kawamura are battling over the stove. There's more than one, boys. Kikumaru is already starting to cook but gets distracted when Ryoma's egg cracks on his forehead. Oishi is cutting up tomatoes. Inui steals one. Oishi's eyebrow is twitching and . . . where the heck did he get that ninja outfit from? Kaidoh's still at the garbage can, upchucking. I can't blame him. He knows very well what's in that 'Apocalypse.' And during all this, Tezuka Buchou is still sitting at the table like a rock."

Since the egg Fuji and Ryoma were fighting over broke on Kikumaru's head (the acrobatics player grew so angry that the egg actually started to cook on his brow) they both found another one. Soon everyone was making eggs and bacon. The whole time words like "cholesterol," "grease," and "sudden death" crossed Tezuka's mind more than twice, especially when he watched Inui pluck a fly from the air to add it to his frying pan.

A half an hour later there was an array of bacon and egg plates across Tezuka's table. The Seigaku regulars stood watching their Captain quietly, waiting for a response. When a minute passed and the stoic captain still hadn't said a word Oishi gave a nervous laugh. "Gomen, Tezuka. It looks like we made a lot of food. But you don't have to eat all of it. You can save it for the rest of the week."

Tezuka still did not reply. His light brown eyes glanced briefly at the atrocity rightly named "Apocalypse" and then at a few shell-infested scrabbled eggs.

"Dig in, Buchou!" Kikumaru said energetically.

Tezuka mutely separated the small wooden chopsticks, fixed them in his hand, and reached forward. He lifted a bite of egg to his mouth, raising his arm . . .

The chopsticks fell with a clatter onto the plate as he gripped his left shoulder, a grimace of intense pain on his face. "My . . . my arm," he whispered quietly.

"Buchou!" the team yelled in unison. The last time they had seen this expression on Tezuka's face was in his match against Atobe.

Oishi began to hover about the suffering Tezuka in a panic, sweating profusely with worry. "He hyper extended his shoulder!"

Kawamura pointed towards the door. "We need to get the doctor! Hurry!"

The eight regulars rushed out of the cafeteria into the rehabilitation center, all searching franticly. They caught sight of a nurse's assistant and ambushed the poor girl. "Oi!" Momoshiro roared in her frightened face. "We need a doctor, now!"

The girl screamed and smashed him in the nose with the clipboard she was carrying. She ran franticly away from the deranged boys in chef outfits. To make matters worse for the already unbalanced Momoshiro Kaidoh punched him in the shoulder for his lack of intelligence, sending him crashing into a nearby laundry cart.

After retrieving the dizzy Peach, despite Kaidoh's protests, from the tangled jumble of T-shirts and briefs (they were all clean, mind you . . . I think) they ran further down the hall and finally found a nurse who did not scream and run the other direction due to their boisterous approach. "Now, what is the problem?" she asked them, critically gazing at them through her spectacles.

"Our captain, Tezuka, one of the patients here, his shoulder is hurting," Kawamura said quickly, out of breath.

"Yes, most of the other patients are hurting too. That _is_ the reason why they're here."

Oishi protested, "But he was in intense agony! It's like he injured himself again! Please, you must see him now!"

"Alright, _alright_," she said. They pointed the nurse in the direction of the cafeteria, opening the door.

The nurse looked at the regulars with a raised eyebrow after surveying the empty room. "This captain of yours . . . He's not invisible, is he?"

Kikumaru reached into his pocket, producing a tennis ball. He threw it towards Tezuka's chair. The ball hit the chair and bounced off. "No, he's not," he deduced. "He would have caught that ball if he were there. Oi! Buchou! Where are you?!"

The rest of the regulars stared in shock at the empty seat. "Buchou," Ryoma whispered. "Did he—?"

Inui was flipping through his notepad. "There is only a .01 percent chance . . . but it can't be possible."

Fuji laughed, eyes opened. "Minna," he murmered. "I think our Buchou just played a trick on us."

Tezuka, safely back in his room, sighed with relief, clutching his franticly beating heart. His arm was fine, of course. _Nationals, _he thought. His hands clenched. _I will recover and go to nationals. That is my goal. It is my dream . . . However . . . if I let them feed me I'll die before I can ever recover. _

End

Food fact: POT is bad for you, especially in the kitchen. Don't go making those special brownies, you hear me?


End file.
